


cracks

by sleepystar123



Category: The Ultimate Sidemen
Genre: Anxiety, Cutting, Depression, Feeling Overwhelmed, Graphic Description, Guilt, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Stress, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 07:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepystar123/pseuds/sleepystar123
Summary: ONE-SHOT; in which vik is supposed to be the strong but, oh god, he's not, and all of his cracks finally cause him to shatter





	cracks

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags and proceed to read with caution! this work will contain potentially-triggering material

_i want to help people and i want to_

_be there for everyone but now their_

_sadness has mixed with my own and_

_**i can't breathe** and i want to ask for_

_help but i'm supposed to be the_

_strong one but i'm not_

_oh god_

**_i'm not_ **

 

-

 

vik's hands shook as he set the final paper down, having finally finished reading over all of them for what must have been the hundredth time now. he looked around him, at all of the papers that surrounded him. there were nine piles (one for each of his closest friends, one for his family, one for everyone else). some piles contained more than one piece of paper. each piece of paper was covered in words, messily scrawled in black ink, and decorated with tear drops. he tried, damn it, he tried. vik rewrote and rewrote, but he could never make them look nice. he found himself shaking and crying every time. 

for a while he considered just saying screw the notes. no matter how many times he read over them, he was never fully satisfied anyway. he just couldn't seem to word things right. it was hard explaining his thoughts and feelings. and he really didn't care for the messiness of his writing. some words seemed completely unreadable to him. the wet circles made it seem even more pathetic. but maybe this was just him overthinking things. making them more complicated than they needed to be.

he had a habit of doing that. 

vik closed his eyes, bringing his hands up to cover them as he did so. he didn't bother wiping away the tears from his cheeks, or eyes. for a moment, he simply sat there, crying quietly, trying desperately to keep himself together. is this really what he's come to? is this really how it all ends? vik never thought he would actually be pushed to this point. he's always had hope in him, no matter how shitty things got. if that failed, he's always been a fucking coward. 

he thought back to the times he had attempted to attempt. yes,  _attempted to attempt._ a few summers ago was the first of few. he'd been in this same position- sat in bed, surrounded by goodbye notes and covered in tears. but back then, he'd been joined by a container full of pills and a bottle of water. he'd done all the research. if he downed them all, he'd die. and so he tried, he tried so hard. but every time he brought a handful of pills to his mouth, he ended up chickening out. so he tried one-by-one, but that didn't work, either. it didn't help that he had a fear of swallowing pills. so he'd ended up returning the container to the medicine drawer and tearing the notes to shreds, humiliated and ashamed. 

a few months later, he remembered deciding to try a good-old-fashioned cliff. because he was afraid he'd get spotted on a bridge. and it was much easier to pretend he was trying to get a good view and accidentally slipped off a cliff. no one questioned people on cliffs. so he drove himself out to an area full of them. he'd written up more notes, deciding that people deserved some sort on explanation. he didn't want to say anything to anyone while he was alive, as he knew they would guess what he was about to do, and definitely try to talk him out of it. and he would give in, of course. he always did. but he didn't want to this time. so he hiked through nature, his housemates thinking he was out with friends. he searched for a big enough cliff, but every one he came across, he found some sort of flaw. and every time he tried to approach an edge, he freaked out and backed away. it didn't help that he had a fear of heights.

vik remembered driving home that day, feeling like an even bigger failure. he'd spent the entirety of the drive debating just crashing into something, but for some reason, he couldn't get himself to do it. part of him had doubted how effective it would've been. he wanted as small of a survival chance as possible, and the way cars are built today, he had a feeling it would take something far beyond his capabilities to surely kill him.

there were a few more after that, but clearly he chickened out of those, too. he couldn't even fucking  _attempt_ to kill himself. how pathetic is that?

he was pulled out of his thoughts by his phone going off. text messages flooded his phone, and he felt the dull headache intensify before he even reached for his phone. he selfishly prayed it wasn't one of his friends, in need of some support. he really can't handle it right now.

he searched the messy bed for his device, eventually finding it under his blanket. upon turning it on, he instantly felt sick. it was simon, and from the small previews he got, he could see it was exactly what he didn't want. he could tell simon was having another breakdown. of course, he's turning to vik for help.

vik felt his head flooding as he unlocked his phone. as if he wasn't feeling bad enough before, he instantly felt ten times worse. he hated how big of a mess he was. he  _hated_ how much he wished he could get a break. he felt selfish, and guilty, and fucking horrible. most of all, he felt overwhelmed. he opened his messages, his head pounding. he stared at the texts that continued to come in, not yet opening simon's individual chat. 

god, how vik  _hated_ himself. he should be able to help his friends. why couldn't he?

it wasn't just simon. josh has been struggling as well. after a particularly nasty breakup with freya, he's been heavily relying on vik for help. everyone in the group tried their best, but vik felt josh came to him a lot more than anyone else. it seemed like it, at least. vik's good friend, lachlan, also seemed to be having problems. and, of course, he turned to vik as well. naturally. 

vik tried to be the strong one. really, he did. he tried  _so hard_ to push his own problems and feelings back so he could help his friends. even in the middle of his own breakdowns, he tried to pull himself together enough to help. and at first, he did okay. but, with everyone seeming to be struggling, vik didn't feel like he had anyone to turn to. of course, he had friends who weren't struggling, but they also had lives. they were busy people. plus, part of vik didn't think he deserved help.

as he watched the messages roll in, he felt the self-hatred intensifying. vik didn't  _deserve_ to talk to someone. he finally opened them, closing his eyes for a moment as he scrolled up to the beginning. he tried to read simon's words, but he found himself having to reread messages, and more than once he started from the top completely. his head is swimming, vik can barely process what he's reading. he already knows he's barely going to be of help- what else is new, though?- and it killed him. he couldn't help his friend. he deserved to suffer. he deserved to deal with it all on his own.

when vik finally read through everything, he only debated typing a response for a moment before he shut his eyes and locked his phone, tossing it to the side somewhere. this wasn't a new occurrence. lately, he had been leaving his friends on read. he just- he didn't know what else to do. when they talked about their problems, or their thoughts of suicide, well... what was he supposed to say? he had said everything he could, and it wasn't doing anything. plus, he couldn't even talk himself out of it anymore. how could he help them when he couldn't help himself? 

the silence weighed on him like a rock. he knew simon was waiting for a response. he  _needed_ a response. but vik couldn't think. his head hurt so bad, it triggered a fresh set of tears. he couldn't think a single coherent thought. it was all jumbled and choppy, and none of it made sense. nothing made sense. it hadn't for a long time.

he pressed his hands to his forehead, wishing the pain would stop. he wanted to be able to think. he wanted to be able to help. but all he could think about was simon needing him, josh needing him, lachlan needing him. he couldn't help any of them. he glanced over at his computer, only to shut his eyes once more. he prerecorded a bunch of videos last week, when he had finally decided he was actually going to call it quits. vik knew he wouldn't be up for filming, so went ahead and prerecorded, so he wouldn't miss a day and raise suspicion. 

his fans needed him, his friends needed him, his family has been wanting him to come visit. all of this, on top of his own crumbling mental health and resurfacing memories- he couldn't handle it. vik has never felt so alone. his sleep schedule has been worse than ever; he swears he's never felt so tired in his life. his eating is also beyond fucked- he's hardly ever hungry anymore. always too anxious or busy. even when he isn't anxious or busy, he usually doesn't feel like he deserves to eat.

everything is crumbling down around him and vik can't handle it anymore.

he wanted to be the strong one. more than anything, vik always wanted to be the person his friends could come to. he wanted to be able to help people and make people happy, but he can't. he can't. vik has felt himself cracking for weeks now. and tonight, well, tonight is the breaking point. tonight is the night he shatters beyond repair. he won't pick himself up, and neither will anyone else.

vik gathered the pages, his hands shaking harder as he realized that this was it. his legs felt weak as he stood to his feet and walked across his room to his desk, where he laid the piles out nicely, side-by-side. he looked at them for a moment, before he turned back to his bed. slowly, he trudged back to the mattress and sat down. vik grabbed his container of single-edged razor blades in one hand, and his bottle of  _nyquil_ in the other. well, technically it was simon's. he had bottles of the medicine in his room. vik was sure he wouldn't miss one for now. he'd get it back soon enough, after all.

vik's breathing was short and shaky as he positioned himself on his bed. he briefly debated covering it in towels, seeing as there's about to be a lot of blood, but laying on towels wouldn't be very comfortable. and he figured he might as well continue being a selfish prick and die as comfortably as possible. so he laid in the center of his bed, feeling his heart pound and his hands sweat. this would be the last time he felt these things. the last time he felt guilt, or anxiety, or headaches, or stress, or overwhelmed. it would also be the last time he felt excitement, or happiness, or any good thing, but he was past the point of caring. it wasn't enough anymore.

so vik slipped back into his oh-so-familiar habit with his blade. deeper than he'd ever gone, right on his wrists, near the arteries. he'd always been too scared to go near them, but he didn't have that fear anymore. see, he had feared pills, and heights, and various other things that kept him from attempting, but he was smart this time. he didn't fear blades.

pain ripped through his arms, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. once he figured he'd done enough damage, he downed as much of the  _nyquil_ as he could stomach, and then some. he drunk until he felt sick, then he capped the bottle and set it back on the nightstand along with the blades. he'd taken more than he anticipated. oh, well. simon was more than welcome to use vik's money to buy more.

vik didn't take _nyquil_ often, so he felt the effects almost immediately. he sunk down flat onto the bed and shut his eyes, feeling the fatigue wash over him. he'd read that bleeding to death was a painful experience, but he wouldn't feel it if he was asleep, would he?

vik guessed he was about to find out.

he sent a quiet apology to the lad that would find his body, and then one to everyone he was leaving behind. he knew they wouldn't see it this way, but it really was for the better. vik deserved this. he deserved to die. there wasn't anything any of them could have done, anyway. he'd reached his breaking point. there was no going back when you cracked that much.

as vik felt his consciousness fading, he just hoped his friends and family didn't blame themselves too much. he hoped they moved on quickly. he hoped... they could forgive him one day.

it was his last wish before the darkness took over.

**Author's Note:**

> depression and suicide are very serious things. if you are struggling to handle your depression, feeling overwhelmed, or if you have thoughts of suicide, please reach out. you are not alone. you don't have to end everything. there is hope. here are some websites and phone numbers you can access if you need to talk.
> 
> websites:  
> http://remedylive.com/  
> https://www.iprevail.com/chat_landing  
> https://www.betterhelp.com/start/  
> https://www.7cups.com/depression-help-online/  
> https://www.chatzy.com/therapy
> 
> phone numbers  
> us & uk list of numbers: https://psychcentral.com/lib/telephone-hotlines-and-help-lines/  
> numbers for each us state: http://www.suicide.org/suicide-hotlines.html  
> numbers for places outside of the us & uk: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html  
> another international list: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines
> 
> text numbers  
> text 'ANSWER' to 839863 (i think this is just for the US)  
> text 'CONNECT' to 741741 
> 
> other resources  
> if you don't want to text or call, you can message 'crisistextline' on kik. it's still essentially texting, just on the kik app rather than in actual text messages


End file.
